Futile
by Ephemeral Everlast
Summary: Because sometimes, Death claims lovers unmercifully. Sesshomaru/Kagura
1. The Hollow Plea

_This story is set strictly in Sesshomaru's POV, from a third person perspective until the very end where Death has Her say._

_If you're hoping for a happy ending, turn back now. Darkly-themed, horror-driven, sexual situations/details, desperation, gloom, and a lovely couple, my first and eternal OTP; you are forewarned._

_The deviation from the anime's canon is intentional._

_DokkasōPoison Flower Claw_

_Sōū- Dragon Strike_

_I own nothing._

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><p><em>"Gaily I lived as ease and nature taught,<em>

_And spent my little life without a thought_

_And am amazed that Death, that tyrant_

_Should think of me, who never thought of him." ~ Rene Francoi Regier_

The only emotion that is capable of completely obliterating pride is desperation. A fallacy occurs in that logic however, when love becomes a close second. Hopeless feelings in an impassioned heart form the most powerful weapon: a double-edged blade.

Three days and nights had passed, the sun slipping into a bloody-red outline against the horizon, and come the dawn, the sky bled with the youkai lord's loss of sleep. It was of no consequence, for his body could easily recuperate if given a few hours, regaining the tantamount of his strength within a small time-frame.

The blessing of sleep was his reward, for he had questions that needed answering, inquiries that needed to be fulfilled, at any and all costs to his personal comfort.

The thought of comfort was laughable, but if he was to try and attempt such a feat, amusement would sound satiric, brittle to the ear, and the furthest thing from mirth. There was nothing amusing about this present situation, nothing at all.

Instead of focusing on how he had sunk so low in his life, so low as to where he was seeking answers from the literal underworld, he focused on the why, the what, and more importantly, the who.

Never did Sesshomaru give favors, either willingly, or unwillingly. There was nothing he needed in life from people that asked for help from him, nor did he in return, need their assistance.

He was inexorably wrong.

There was something he had been unaware that he needed, and once more, craved after the first sampling of satisfaction proved to be more than appeasing. As a being who made it personal habit to want for nothing, he found this to be an enigma, an intrigue that he unraveled, again and again until he saw the answer, carved by a commanding wind.

Also, there was a question he needed a reply to, and the only being that could do so wasn't of this world.

_'Love and death always did walk in tandem.'_

Love. There was that word, and once more, the emotion and sensation that came from such a grave, wondrous feeling. That was what his life had lacked, as pitiful and absurd as that was. From the lord who had seemingly everything in his iron grip, there was one notion that he would never be able to grasp at will; it was a feeling that came on its own, without any semblance of forewarning.

It happened, and it had been too surreal to place into words. Feelings like that could only be described in hyperbole, in endless fashions of metaphor and simile. Those decorative, pretty words would do nothing to even graze the surface of his unearthed emotions, of the intensity of the passion between him and Kagura.

Kagura. Yes, it had been her, that once accursed detachment of his one true enemy. It was a dark irony in the bleakest hour of midnight, a gloom that would shield the appearance of dawn. But the truth remained, for the truth was that blackness: she was now his.

She had once stood on the opposite end of the battle field, and he recalled her sneering at him, the smirk playing on the edges of her ruby-red lips like a renowned musician to the strings. He remembered the way that her eyes flashed with annoyance when he wouldn't accept the compensation for freeing her, and to counter her scorn, dismissed her with a cold shoulder. He hadn't paid her a single thought after those meetings, for she was little more than a doomed creature, doing her master's bidding. Sesshomaru never liked puppets.

All of this was memory, memory not only engraved in stone, but buried beneath the earth in tunnels that would never know of this concrete volition of his, the turnabout that altered more than his mind-set. New memories scratched out the cruel epitaphs he had created with his insolent behavior, and before long, they were swept away on a warm, caring wind, undoubtedly forgiven. He had always thought the elements to be forgiving to those who knew compromise.

It had taken a few meetings, some with her siblings, some without, for him to become in the least bit affected by the creature known as Kagura. Physical beauty, if it was borne of some unique element, could hold him in thrall but he was well aware that those with the faces of angels could have the souls of twisted and cowardly hellions. In the superficial regard, Kagura wasn't beautiful. There was her surface appearance, the peach skin, the long limbs, and the way that her clothes were the perfect contradiction: leaving much to the imagination, but still pronouncing her full-breasted, hourglass figure. She was a beautiful woman, a youkai that governed one of the elements, commanding the winds by birth-right, power breeding an exquisite tone to her being, to her aura. In every regard, she was prodigiously beautiful. There was intellect behind those rose-red eyes, a sharp wit, and a mind to match. She would've made an excellent chess player he knew, for there was calculation in her spirit, a fortitude that remained inextinguishable by mental and physical torment. And he knew that she had suffered, for there was no one who was in as much anguish under Naraku's reign as his underlings. Despite what he knew to be truth, there was strength in her, intelligence...and above all, a worthiness that far surpassed the fools in his court.

This train of thought was dangerous, and above all, unnecessary. He didn't need to be deterred from revenge, to invest time, thought, and his attentions on someone who was desperate for freedom. She was pitiful, pathetic...and he was lying to himself if he claimed that Kagura had no impact on him. It was the polar-effect.

She was unlike any creature he'd ever met. She was otherworldly, exotic, a flower he'd uncovered beneath a bramble of warped, black thorns. There was mystery there as to how she had managed to germinate and stay alive under such trying circumstances, and that only served to propel his intrigue further. She was a survivor, this one, and the very nature of how she remained stable and defiant surged him into the bowels of interest.

One year previously, they had one such solitary meeting. He remembered that it was about nothing more than the passing of news, for this woman that could control both the wind and the dead played the part of the messenger as well. The fact that would've meant nothing to him before now enraged him; someone of her incredible spirit deserved to be the one giving orders, aside from following them.

To see her in such a position before him blistered a hate that drizzled to his core, igniting ropes of flame down his throat, deep into his chest, fanning into a conflagration of rage known only to his inner-youkai. Seeing her before him in the position of servitude, a lowliness known only to commoners and the leeches of a petty archetype of a court throttled him, a hairline fracture splitting his resolve.

Opening his mouth fragmented him, shattering a disciplined self-control. He imparted to her about where she belonged status-wise, he who had barely spoken a handful of words before to her was now bestowing a compliment.

Sesshomaru remembered with fondness how Kagura's eyes had narrowed, blinking in such a way that suggested he spend the next century in a healer's quarters. Foolishness thundered through his body, lightning coursing through his claws, the tips of his toes, his muscles.

What was he doing, suggesting such a thing to her? He had no time to be weak-willed, no time to steer from his path, especially if it involved talking with the one directly connected to his enemy.

Then, remarkably, her eyes softened, and the armor that she donned like a costume fell to the ground. "Thank you. I must admit, I never expected such high praise from you." Her voice was as much of a contradiction as her clothing. She was unafraid to be blunt, to say what was on her mind. Even around her "Master"- a term he despised with every shred of his being - her tongue remained loose. The tone of voice was neither saccharine, nor guttural; it was as if he had found a wavelength that no mere mortal could hear, a sound in-between Sound itself. It was lovely, yet it was surprisingly deep for a female.

The tenor coasted, coiling around his ears, ensconcing his body in a light-headedness that was known only to him after a drain of his power. The sounds became a heart-stopping vertigo, twisting rationale into a malformed truth at his feet, bedding down with what remained of his reserve, of his facade. His feet remained solidly on the ground, the barely-shifting earth beneath his feet conjuring up the image that, if he was to make any sudden movements, his existence would be stuck in limbo, manifesting into nothing more than a chaotic blur. This was what happened when he second-guessed himself, when he allowed himself to feel. It was indescribable, and oddly exhilarating.

All because of this lovely, scarlet-adorned enigma. Lovely, because in this hour, his mind and his rationale were two completely separate facets of his being. If one was going to completely dismantle their will, he was going to do it of his own volition and philosophy, and not on superficial lust.

Kagura was born of Naraku, created by him to serve his will. Kagura herself proved that notion to be false when she came to him, heedless of the consequences it could bring to her safety, and desired nothing but freedom. It was a reckless act, but valor was never known for having any connection to logic. Contrary wise, he was born of his mother and father and stepped out of their shadow, paving a legacy borne from a reign of calculation. Every creature began somewhere, thirsted for something and would go to any lengths to procure that for themselves, especially when it came to the possibility, no matter how transient, of freedom. She shared Naraku's eyes and ink-washed hair; he shared his father's height and his mother's facial markings. Just because someone was born from another, didn't mean that an indestructible connection came of it. That was truth.

Despite what lesser beings assumed, Sesshomaru was a firm believer in free will.

After an undetermined period of time, their eyes met, the brevity of eye-contact a jolt through his veins. He knew that if he was to tilt his head either to the left or right, his ears would fill with the sound of summer winds hitting a frost-lined stream: simmering, scintillating with heat, vaporous clouds billowing from the river-bed.

The scrutiny proved that her oculars held no pupil, a truth which led to a deeper fascination with her physical being. Unbidden, he lost himself in the shade of blooming roses, in the colors of the Goddess's easel that painted the skies. There was profound concentration in her gaze, as if she was mentally trying to unearth his compliment for an untruth, for any degree of a trick. She was seeking anything to indicate a false sense of security, anything suspicious; she would find nothing but the blazing outlines of oblivion, for nothing had been done yet.

As a defense mechanism, she licked her lips, and for the quickest moment, he caught the flash of pink between her teeth. His eyes dropped to her lips, and he entertained the fancy of claiming them for his own, of ravishing her mouth, and if she allowed, her body entire.

Kagura caught his gaze, the subtle change of his expression proving to her that she knew of his desire. Her lashes lowered, lips parting in a silent question, her stance an amalgam of submission and slight impatience. She wished for him to act, for him to indicate the truth of his intentions. Where she stood was the limbo that he once spoke of, a state he could exile himself to, or save her from.

The truth rattled his reserve, jarring his iron-laced core until fragments spread, spider-webbed patterns threatening his solace. It wasn't too late to cease this foolery, to pretend as if these thoughts didn't matter, to smooth this blemish out until fabrication resembled truth.

His blood hissed, blistering with both a chill and intense, muscle-deep heat that wouldn't be quick to depart in Kagura's company. Nothing could ease this sickness without action. A lord never backed down from a new volition.

He was before her within a bat of coal-lined eyelids, as close as he could be in her proximity without overpowering her ability to escape. He granted her the option to leave, to flee back to her Master and creator if this wasn't what she desired. For a creature who was bound in every manner possible, she deserved this piece of a choice, an iota of control in a world that desired the exact opposite from her.

A low, resonating growl rumbled from his throat, one that stated that he wished to soothe her, not scare her to the skies. Her eyes narrowed, curiosity earning him two steps from her, as if she wasn't aware that he could create such a sound. She was close enough to touch, to taste even. He wanted her, in unspoken words, in the shift of his body language: he wished to make her his lover.

_'There is no other.'_

The affirmation cut him deep, severing reason and the folly of his pride that he still clung to. He knew that if he had the ability to examine his own soul before him, his spirit would be a patina of shimmering white, a slash of discernible red in the middle.

If he had known then what he knew for certain now, he would have listened to the spirit of foreshadowing, of unshakable future grief. Whether or not he would have adhered to it or changed what happened afterwards wasn't something he could answer with truth.

He only had the habit of listening to his inner-conscience, specters of logic and omen forgotten. The one he was paying attention to took one step forward, then a second, and finally completed the four steps necessary to close the gap in their proximity.

It didn't have to be spoken, for he had read the signals correctly: Kagura yearned for him just as equally as he did her. Their mouths met, lips parting to greet ever-ready tongues, insatiability devouring them whole. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he existed as a separate entity apart from her, or if they had been one complete being all along. A moan dripped from her lips, the sound besotting to his ears, a lurch of heat scuttling up and down his spinal column, his toes curling in his shoes. _He _made her sound like that, he alone.

He gripped her shoulders in his hands, fingers splayed across her back, working the digits in a languid massage up and down her skin, steadying her. Her hands cradled his face, fingers clenching in his hair in a firm but gentle hold, as if she was afraid that he would disappear, as if she was to make love to the remnants of a half-finished dream.

With his lips, he laid her fears to rest. With his hands, he proved that he was flesh and bone, marrow and blood, not the conjured fancies of a lonely creature. They were the same being this night, her sorrow his own, his compassion hers for the taking.

They fell to the ground in a clash of red and white, long limbs and breathless moans. Silence was never known to either of them that night, the hour when hurricane winds caressed their sweat-drenched bodies, every scream and murmur of pleasure circling back to their own ears, reminding them of what they initiated, what they set in motion.

Afterwards, she cried. Her tears were hot, impassioned, and the taste of them was anger itself, saturating his tongue with the tang of wine, of bitter absinthe.

"I'm not free." Her voice had returned, and it wasn't the same tone he heard from her hours previous. This impostor of a voice was disembodied from emotion, a whisper connected to a life that had resigned itself to becoming the embodiment of an unpleasant reality. She stated the obvious, and it afflicted her more profoundly in the afterglow of their coupling. She wasn't the only one that felt pain over this truth.

Kagura's head was bowed, and in their tussling, the feathers that held her hair in place fell away,ebony hair free from any restraints. Her skin was beaded with perspiration around her neck and brow, and instead of her body emanating a welcoming, warm feeling, it revealed that she had become someone who was gravely tired, a being who was sick of feeling hopeless.

Bleached light and shadow danced against her skin, every curve and pore exposed to him in the feathery moonlight, her body appearing darker than the moment before with the trick of light. One minute, she was an ethereal star goddess and in the next, she appeared as a silhouette's doppelganger.

Gently, gentler than he had been in well over hundreds of years, Sesshomaru reached for her. He wrapped his arm around her frame, letting her weep. He let her grip his hand when she sobbed, and she allowed for him to place his head above her own, in the way that he knew other creatures comforted one another. He knew that animals did this to soothe their mates, a flash of memory filling his eyes at the memory of his own lord father doing this towards his late mother.

Patterns repeated, history swirling around and around, dooming the generations borne from past mistakes. His father's demise had come from passion; his own would as well, unless he fled her now, forsaking what they had given one another.

It wouldn't be difficult to extricate himself from her at that very moment, to dissipate into thin air and never come across her again, the memory banishing with the churning of his own mental tides. The assumption that he was a being created by ice would be fulfilled, pleasure sating them for this hour only, leaving a void. He was capable of that, of obliterating this feeling and abandoning her for the sake of his own survival.

A look to the creature in his arms sent that moment of dark insight fleeing, the wraith of doubt shriveling before his eyes. It wasn't that he wouldn't leave her; he was physically incapable. When one gave entirely of themselves in the most selfless and selfish way, the heart revived, destruction coming upon separation and egotism.

When her cries abated, and discomfiture threatened her frame, Sesshomaru slipped his hand from her grasp, and placed his fingers over the skin above her left breast, the part of her body that held her heart. There was the steady thump of life there, the thudding of an existence that was desperate to live, free from chains. It was a phantom drumming against her bones, a shadowed cymbalist against her flesh, creating the tone; she didn't have an organ there, in the way that he did. There was nothing but an echo, and yet the grandest sound he had ever heard. She had more of a heart than he did.

He focused his attention on the disfigurement of the spider mark on her back, the scar that appeared as if she had been branded. If that was true, if that kumo had held a fresh-from the-fire brand and marred her skin, he would spend his days tracking him for her sake only, ripping the skin from his flesh and scattering his entrails throughout the lands.

Nothing could take the one that he had made his own. He was attached; she was _his_. His mind and spirit had made her his mate, the protective streak of his youkai howling for retribution, for answers that would allow him the pleasure of keeping her in his arms for the remainder of eternity.

'_She is not damned; not if I have a say in the matter.'_

She gasped aloud, the sounds of her surprise a beautiful sound, her voice returning. His lips closed around the raised lines of the scar, his mouth trailing a heated pattern down her spine. In this way, in the way that he couldn't express with words, he was proving two truths: accepting her for who she was by making the scar something precious to touch, as well as promising her that he would do everything in his power to free her.

He had sworn to a mission without words, subjected himself to the oath of something unspoken. In that manner and regard, it made his pledge all the more powerful. Silence was binding.

Through the months, the months in which they held this tryst, both in the forests beneath whipping branches, and deep in the folds of sheets in his castle, he searched for her freedom. There had to be a way, a way in which he would salvage her spirit and life from being bound to that horrid kumo for the rest of her days, separating her from her Master so that in the event of his demise, she wouldn't be destroyed along with him.

Sometimes, after they coupled, Kagura would lay against his chest and listen to his heart beat, the sound transfixing her into a half-meditative state. Her eyes slipped closed, and he knew that for her, it was the melody of everything Divine and sublime, the symphony of the afterlife that the spirits played on their gold-encrusted instruments forevermore. His existence became her everything, engulfing her spirit in those hours, fear remaining in the skies, at the doorway; he never felt it again, for there was no time for it.

Other times, she would confess to him what would happen to her if Naraku found out about her rebellion, the disobedience that came with making him her lover. With a snap of his fingers, he would kill her, excuses and answers to his inquiries meaning little more than small-talk. If she so much as stood wrong, he would summon her heart and grip it, pulverizing it into ashes, no matter the liability it would give him. She had no idea if she would simply die, her soul fleeing from the supposed sham of flesh her body had become, or if she would suffer in long drawn-out torment. It terrified her, and she trembled against him deep into the night, his growls and kisses luring her to sleep, his thoughts running red.

He lapped her tears away, making sure that her kimono remained free from dirt and wrinkles, caring for her in a way he didn't believe himself to be capable of. He cared for her in a way that would've not only shocked anyone in their company, but stunned them the point of disbelief and denial. He was Sesshomaru, a youkai lord who would've treated the pebbles in his shoes better than the living beings who crossed his path. He was Sesshomaru, a soul that would've sold his soul to grasp the handle of Tetsusaiga and use it for the purpose of annihilating all who opposed him. But now, he had become Sesshomaru, a youkai lord who had spiraled into the abyss of love, unsure of which way was up or down, and beyond caring what was deemed possible. Not a one ever landed gently in love; they fell.

Meaning, for this being of wind and fire, he would travel anywhere to find her a heart, and more importantly, freedom.

Those he conversed with for his mission were of high enough merit and youkai moral standards that his privacy was guaranteed in this matter. They were paid up-front, and in return were to tell him everything they could about granting one the solace of freedom, and a heart.

Some laughed at him outright and told him it wasn't attainable, even if he had been given thousands of lifetimes. Others eyed him warily, as if they couldn't believe that someone who had seemingly everything would be willing to attempt to cheat death, and ignore the fine print of the contract Kagura was bound under. There were some with yearning lights in their eyes, beings who wished to assist him, but the news they brought him was grave. The only way Kagura could be free, they proclaimed with an edge of sorrow to their voices, was to find a way to completely destroy Naraku, and then found some way to save Kagura from being joined with him for all eternity.

There was one statement in common with all those he sought out, an assertion that he was willing to give not only credence to, but partake in. It was madness, requesting an audience with Death Herself.

Sesshomaru knew who they were referring to. This being had no name, and the manner in which she was addressed was subjective to who you were and what you desired. If a being was to come to Her, they would have to cross over the realm of the living, past the dominion of the dead, defeat the guards that defended Death's home lands, and only then be found worthy of having an appearance with Her. She was the one who was said to make death less painful, if you could impress Her enough to be bestowed a favor, and to perform what humans claimed as miracles.

Sesshomaru didn't believe in miracles; he believed in concrete solutions to the matter at hand, a matter close to his heart.

That was why he currently found himself traveling through the realms of the living, deep into the heart of a land where the only sunshine was a weak light, a feeble nemesis to the acidic clouds in the firmament. The creatures here were twisted caricatures of beings that might have been living in the world he knew, or half-alive souls that yearned for form, revealing nothing to his eyes but partially finished beasts that scarcely resembled life.

Roving eyes examined him from the mottled nests of the forests, from the black and dripping foliage by steaming river-beds. Mouths clicked, fangs slick with saliva, bloodied lips curling in preparation for the hunt. Despite his current position, that didn't change the truth that he would never be prey.

Tokijin acted as both a shield and weapon, keeping all harm from him. The poisonous taint of the blade bled through the sickness of this world, keeping all of the beasts that threatened his safe-keeping at bay. If something got too close, he slashed, the abomination shrieked, and he continued on his way.

There was a sudden dip in the path he tread, and far beneath his feet lay a mass of slithering, wriggling things not ten feet from his person. They roared up at him, crimson slated eyes drinking in his form, daring for him to take a false step and fall into the abyss of gaping mouths.

Sesshomaru took a running start, leaping completely over the pit. He landed soundlessly, and moments after he found himself ambushed by scaled oni, an attack he predicted. Those who sought an audience with Death had to be prepared for formidable obstacles after all.

His adversaries were heinous beings, creatures that appeared as if they had been birthed before their time. Some had eyes where noses belonged, hands where ears should've grown, and spines where hair follicles had forgotten to grow.

He might have known this soul in his court as a vile youkai that preferred vanity over creating a safe land to rule. It was pointless to contemplate, as there was no salvaging such a monster. Although, he mused with an inquiry that served to jar his concentration, there was a chance that at the end, he would end up as one of these beings.

He slashed not only at flesh, but at doubt and slithering debilitation entire, rendering whatever and whomever ventured close enough to him a blind, screaming mass of skin. He yearned to unleash the Sōū, but it would waste precious energy he would need later on. One truth remained certain, even as poison and screams permeated the air and gore spattered his garments: he would need every modicum and section of his strength if he was to succeed.

The survivors that clung to their bleeding bodies scampered off, cowards in death as they were in life. Sesshomaru flexed his hands, his candor and resilience never faltering, his blistering pace continuing through the void with all the precision of a silk-weaver. He was growing nearer to what he had come all of this way for.

_'She wonders if I will grow weary of these tests.'_ Ever had he aced every test that threatened and opposed him, through childhood to the crest of his adulthood, be it mental or physical. This time would serve as no exception.

He was attacked three more times, using his poison and forfeiting any thought of mercy. It was of no consequence to him what his enemies had once been, be they a king or a pauper: they were hindrances and he would destroy them all if he had to.

Finality gurgled, dissolving the remnants of the corpses he killed in a stream composed of acid only. The bones dissolved with a stink of organs, bones jutting forward through the black liquid, contrasting dramatically with the gloom of the water. This was where everyone ended up, no matter their status and altercations to their lives.

If this was to be him at the end, he wanted to know victory, know that Kagura had been freed before he was sheathed and bound evermore in the form of a beast. Simply trying and dying as cause would be unacceptable.

The toxic river before him shimmered into glass obsidian, reminding him of scales that rippled the outer-belly of a snake. Attached to part of the land that caved in on itself was a small opening, and had he not been seeking it, would have missed its presence.

It was there: the opening to the chambers of Death.

He brought his katana out to his right, focusing every ounce of his mental stamina into one cohesive thought, one phrase that would determine his ability to follow through on what he desired to achieve, as well as his right to be seen.

'_Rise. Rise. Rise.'_

The mantra shifted the water to the right, poison parting for his feet, revealing melted segments of land, as well as a graveyard. Skeletons peppered the splintered soil, bones ensnared deeply in the mud, but not deep enough to hide their empty eye-sockets from the horrors of the world. Even in death, residual reminders of grotesque endings and the reality of serving an iota of significance remained.

Ankle-high boots sunk into the earth, his legs propelling him ever-forward, the water staying in place with his mental commands. Tokijin stayed in his palm, a ward to the water and anything he would now face, adequate protection from this point forward only. There was only so much one being could do to prepare for a gathering of this sort, no matter how prideful or skilled the wielder.

The obscured opening of the cave, when the water was pushed aside, appeared as if it was too small to enter, much less be the pivotal point of gathering. Sesshomaru ascertained it as a disguise as well as taxing payment on all who sought Her out. Had he been Death, he wouldn't have wanted to speak with just anyone, only those who were successful to find the door-knocker.

What lay beyond the door had yet to be discovered.

Darkness ensconced him in a light-less womb for several moments, his only awareness originating from the steadiness of his breaths, the beat of his heart. His vision adjusted, noting first that he was treading down a staircase carved entirely out of bone, guard-rails on either side of the skeletal flight made from the spinal columns of countless hell-beasts. Sounds other than proof of his existence here filled his ears, guttural moans and heavy breathing emanating from somewhere in this shrouded place of meeting. Death awaited him.

Sesshomaru held out Tokijin, the pulsing aura lighting up the surrounding area, his eyes discerning everything in his immediate vicinity. He didn't bother blinking, not wishing to falter from the inevitable, both the horrific and what had yet to reveal itself. It was indubitable either way.

Wings flapped from up above, powerful but directionless, without purpose; those with the ability of flight had long since had their will to rebel siphoned out of them, whatever they were and had been.

Keeping his gaze fixed forward, he probed with his mind, releasing the water he had mentally been holding in place. Venom sloshed, a few drops slipping through the fissures in the opening of the cave, the foundation beneath his feet trembling with the poison. Not a drop touched him, and he was grateful for that small blessing. After the tussles, the illustration and reality in this world, he hardly appeared in his prime form. Pride and egotism were opposite ends of the spectrum when one was forced to beg. Besides, he had no knowledge if there was a dress-code to meet with Death.

Howls thundered in his ears, a gathering of creatures forming at the base of the staircase, providing two truths: he was in for a battle that would showcase his worthiness, and Death knew he had arrived.

_'There is no sense in wasting any more time.'_

Inertia and the strength of his leap pushed him forward, aiming for a solid point on any manner of ground he landed on. The free-flight, the adrenaline from past battles, his volition and mission amalgamated into a wake-up call for his inner-youkai, the part that he denied indulgence. His beast was now caressed, yearning for the carnage and mayhem he would cause, providing both a fail-safe and a cradle for every carnal desire he held within him, the part that anticipated and coveted causing the death of those in his way.

His eyes flashed red and malachite, the slashes of his stripes becoming sharper, arrow-thin points to crimson daggers, prepared for annihilating obstacles.

The beings waiting for him were abominations, far more revolting than what he had fought out in the open. They were gargantuan in nature, lumbering beasts with horns that were too big for their oval-shaped heads, be it from physical deformity or purposeful flaw with their creation. Crimson eyes flashed in their skulls, pupils roving every which way, seeking a soul to inflict torment upon. Forked tongues flicked from their mouths, as if they were not only tasting the air, but the extent of his strength, his battle-song and thirst for their end.

They didn't so much as charge to him as they did stagger, parts of their bodies falling to the ground, dissolving and deteriorating before they even reached the battle-field. Underestimating one's foe had led to the loss of his arm once upon a time, and these beings were no exception.

He was the one to charge head first into the melee, cutting down whatever came his way, or in his direct line of vision. Limbs flew through the air, pieces of tongue hit the earth and heads rolled, mouths gaping and shrieking until the claret bled from their eyes.

Those that didn't die right away screamed and screamed, the sound raking his ears with a disharmony that grated against his sense of hearing entire. The sound vibrated deep into his cranium, a haunting rhapsody that rattled his thoughts, turning an incomparable period of years of battle experience to nothing but a mashing of words and actions, leaving him open, vulnerable.

With what little remained of his mind, separate from pain and consternation, he ascertained what would provide victory, his sanity and any future of becoming Death's play-thing.

If there were no vocal cords, then there would be no way for the monsters to scream, to corrupt and fill his mind with discordant noises that threatened his reticence. If that notion proved to be incorrect, he would tear the brain stems out of the creatures with his claws to seek an end to this attack.

Throats were slashed, heads were tore into from the jaw, and brain juices leaked out, splashing him with a back-wash that coated his teeth, his neck. The screams abated, his mind clear from all but a persistent whisper, a shade of what had been.

He had prevailed, fulfilled every task allotted to him.

Instinct glossed over the patina of rage that threatened his focus, for he knew he was being watched. Not only observed in the physical by whatever state that he appeared in after the trials and blood, but viscerally, intimately. Every nuance and facet of his being was being touched, his mind and spirit examined as if it were a type of jewel that was being weighed and polished before being put to use. From somewhere in the black unknown, across the corpse-littered battle-field was a transient critic, judging his strength, his purpose here. There was no sense in pinpointing the sporadic source; it was Her.

A faint smirk curved his lips skyward, for he knew that in this twisted game of toy soldier, the end to the testing period was upon him. The judgment that he felt coursing under his skin, filling his blood and clotting his pores with an unflinching scrutiny would cease. If he was thrown to the pit once more, he would deliver to the pinnacle of his ability, his strength without bounds, for there was no placing a limit on how profoundly he cared.

He had always believed that strength and the path to gaining power was fashioned from solitude. Pride had no meaning here, and as consequence, he had been gravely mistaken in assuming the origins of perpetual force. It came after the realization that self-serving actions would carve out the same habits, never allowing growth or inner-will to come to light.

For once in his life, he was fighting for someone else's strength, which fueled his own from a bottomless place, endless and without need for solitude. He fought for Kagura, for her right to live.

_'Father, I understand.'_

In the midst of deafening chaos, probing scrutiny, he found peace and epiphany.

A final monster lunged, disposed of neatly with a maneuver with the sword, claw and sword at the end, pieces of granulated flesh swirling around his being like shredded pieces of ribbon. His face and hair were saturated with something sticky, but he cared not.

Sesshomaru eased himself from the ground only to place his sword in his sheath. Any thoughts of cleaning himself up for the meeting vanished behind him with every step forward, for a warrior never altered their appearance for the march back to their homeland if they proved victorious. It was a reminder that for the moment, he had proved himself and had won. There was not a one that could say that winning guaranteed a clean future.

Even with his unmatched sense of sight, the after-images of apparitions and foul-looking beings haunted his eyes. For those that were incapable of seeing what lingered on the edges of his given path were blessed with ignorance.

The road he tread trickled with a palpable mess of juices, a darker coating of blood, of crusted wounds emanating from the outer-edges of the path. With each step, his boots sank deeper into components that he accepted and ignored all at once, along with the eternal prisoners outside of the trail.

Phantoms both intangible and corporeal shifted on broken spectral tethers, bobbing this way and that, without any semblance of direction, their eyes blank and sightless, their speech nothing more than hushed murmurs. Rattling shrieks rippled through the air, directly from the gaping jaws of wraiths, talon-like fingers tearing at their hair and perforated clothing, pleading with one another and everything, their reasons for screaming lost on the winds of nightmare.

Smaller, child-like youkai eyed him, some without eyelids, some without eyes, abject hollows filled with the plea for him to help them. They wished for concepts he could both fathom and dismiss all at once, personal convictions and truths he forsook.

This was not his business. And yet, it was a scatter-shot of a reflection, a crooked and splintered glass reminding him that he would join them someday, be it soon or after twelve eternities. He glimpsed this, the horror, the blood, the knowledge of what his living presence here meant, acknowledging his past ignorance of both life and death entire.

'_Was it worth it?'_

'_Is she worth it?'_

'_It isn't too late to turn back.'_

The whispers were both self-created and what every spirit surrounding him spoke to him as he pushed onward, the answers coming without a moment's hesitation. Yes, it was all worth it. Yes, she was worth this, and ten more ventures into hell. And yes, it was too late to turn back, for he had arrived.

Any thought of default stoicism, of appearing as an ill-at-ease warrior, both love-struck and foolish vanished, facades unneeded. His emotions, no matter how deeply he yearned for denial, were exuding.

Freedom was his driving force, freedom for another. Irony twisted this mission into the freeing of his own emotions, all masks lifted, personal airs dissipating on cold winds.

Desperation, when love was at the heart of it, had the ability to fell even the strongest of creatures.

He wouldn't be here, in the belly of this abyss, if not for emotion.

A pulsing, gold light came into his sight after what seemed like an infinite amount of time. He waded through a current of groping hands, half-construed bodies and forms, only to reach the throne of Death. The hue of the gilded illumination seemed to be timed with his heart beats, the closer he came to the glow, the more his theory solidified. He was the only living thing here, the single source of light remaining so long as he existed.

It was a warped sort of beauty, light depending on his life.

The base of a large, pearl-polished throne came into view, his feet halting before the ceremonial seat out of a mixture of his own volition and Hers. The frame of the chair was fashioned with the same bone as the staircase leading to the death-pit, a stark contrast to the stairs leading to the place of eternal reign. Onyx stairs, both polished and dotted with rubies winked in the thrumming light, appearing as crimson stars at their final stages of life, captured forever at the feet of embodiment. The pillars that supported the misshapen chair were of the same ebony stone, and if angled properly with the light, revealed what seemed to be skeletal membranes, shifting bone and muscle in the stone itself, captured remains of beasts in perpetual unrest.

Seated upon the jagged throne, wearing the skull of a large bull in a form-fitting mask, was Death. On Her throat a garnet brooch hung on a silver chain, flashing in time to the rhythm of golden lights and a solitary heart, in place of where Her own should have lain.

She appeared before him in a dress fashioned from cloying sentiments: ashes, diamonds, and upon further scrutiny, flesh. How such a gown had been created and placed on Her person he would never know, much less inquire about. The garment hung to Her ankles, showcasing pallid feet, soles that were unused to walking, smooth and unblemished. The skin was unmarred by both age and scarring, despite the harsh world that she had made her home.

She truly was the one who held dominion over all things un-living; whatever he had envisioned for Death had nothing to do with the illustration before him.

The fingers of Her right hand lifted, digits curling, cradling the air with Her demand: that he step forward.

Compliance that was not his own raised his legs, walking him all the way up the stairs, control and whatever remained of past pride stripping away in tatters as he all but glided to Her feet, obedience choking his throat, his alpha instinct roaring.

Only when he was before Her did the enchantment cease, his will becoming his own once again, levity returning his breath, the feeling of the ground touching the soles of his boots.

Whether by his will or another's, he had arrived at the face of Death.

From what he could tell of Death's visage, Her lips were either upturned in a smirk or a genuine smile. It was impossible to tell Her emotions from the mouth up, for the mask concealed the features in intentional bone and white-washed mystery. Nothing living was allowed to see Her face, lest they lose themselves in the horror beneath, or the unnatural beauty that would send souls spiraling to the afterlife.

Petal-pink lips didn't move, but the voice was pronounced, loud and resonating. "Lord Sesshomaru. Tell me what you seek."

There was an unspoken tone of austerity in the air, his status and ingrained greed for respect ensconcing him, stripping him raw and naked before Her. Citrine eyes studied the skull-mask first, and then the scintillating floor of black. He bowed, his knee hitting the stair without his usual candor and grace, his body betraying to Her what his heart and mind already knew: that he was not meant to kneel, but to rule, and Death would strip that from him as well.

Silver yards of his hair wrapped around him, obscuring his vision but doing nothing to lessen his chagrin. The only thought that mollified his thoughts was his mission, his agenda never seeming more clear to him.

Desperation obliterated pride, forevermore.

"I seek an answer, a way for a being to live." He heard laughter, and Sesshomaru knew not if it was meant to mock, or came from a vessel of amusement he brushed on. Regardless of its inception, he continued. "This being is a detachment from an evil entity that holds her captive. She has no heart, and is bound in the contract of flesh." Silence, a resonating hum that filled his ears with a deeper poignancy than an outright admission of futility.

He was not a creature of words, but this was the time for inquiry forming, of voices and questions. "Is there a way to free her?"

It was spoken. If Death needed another detail, she told him nothing.

A ghostly hand brushed through his hair, and it immersed itself into his head. She wished to know his thoughts, the situation that led to a demon lord begging for his intended's life in a facet of the Underworld. He would show Her.

Sesshomaru closed his eyes, the chaos of his thoughts running rampant. He felt a pair of eyes sifting through his memories, briefly glancing at the parts of his life that were of utmost significance to this gathering, and ignoring all else. He wasn't sure if this served as a relief or as the bitter knowledge that his life and memories were of little regard in the connection of their world.

The inner-most parts of what he shared with Kagura were razed from the soil of Memory itself, the seeds split apart, scrutinized with a critiquing eye, and then placed back into the earth, damaged. He gritted his teeth against this intrusion, the violation of the recollection he held most dear. It was not something she took pleasure in he knew, but it was something that she did without a shred of mercy. A necessary sacrifice he hoped.

He wished to say that he wasn't a lovelorn fool that took it upon himself to save his beloved from a locked tower, or from an enchantment that kept her in a comatose sate; he simply wished to free her, in any way possible.

If it was futile, she needed to tell him now.

After what seemed like the passage of eternity, she released Her grip on his mind. He expelled a breath, beads of sweat dotting the back of his neck, adding to the armor of gore and experience he gained while here.

Sesshomaru resisted the urge to massage his temples, for that would've been an indication of weakness, something that he could be called out for. It was the little things that kept the rebirth of his pride from imploding at his feet.

Death spoke, and he listened. "She is the wind. She was fashioned from the element, and the transformed soul of the half-youkai, the one that afflicts the whole for power. Her Master holds her heart, part of her spirit in his hand, and if he squeezes hard enough, she will return to him. The personality however, the being that you have fallen in love with, is strictly her own." The hollowed out parts of the skull looked directly at him, but in the gloom, he could see nothing of Her eyes. He wasn't sure if he wished to see them.

"I have your answer: there is a way to free her." There was too much room for error, too much room for a clause at the end of this hope-strewn statement, that Sesshomaru didn't feel any semblance of relief. He was correct in his assumptions, for nothing was without price. "She cannot live and be free; only death can free her, a quick one, by this blade."

The air before Her split, an electric charge humming around the air. Sesshomaru raised his head, for he knew that this show was for him. She reached forward, grabbing a thin blade that was the length of her forearm from mid-air. The dagger shimmered with a hellish light, and then went still with a dormant aura.

With Her fingertips, she held both the hilt and the tip of the blade out to him, an open gesture for him to take it. He would do as he was bid.

Sesshomaru rose from his crouched position, and walked before Death. He took the dagger and slipped it down his left sleeve, concealing it from all but two parties.

Death spoke again. "Through the heart. She will go directly to the afterlife and there will be no methods that will ensnare her soul, for all eternity." There was a lapse in Her speech, an unspoken something that she wished to say before he was dismissed. The words she had already spoken startled him and affected him deeper than he ever would admit; what more she could do to him was beyond his thoughts. "This is a blade that kills almost instantly, and no being is immune to its cut. Should you wish to join her, there will be no healing, nor will there be a promise of a peaceful reunion."

The blade weighed heavily on his sleeve, his arm feeling as if it was encased in iron. The words were grave, etched with the utensil of grim reality itself. There would be no happy ending, no happily ever after.

He bowed before Her once more, in an unspoken expression of his gratitude. Had he tried to speak, to his utmost shame, he knew he would've pleaded for another way, or worse, felt the sting and burn of tears in his eyes. Neither would be acceptable, no matter how much he longed to do both.

Freedom. He had sworn an oath, the oath to free her, and he would see it through to the end. The sands in the hourglass would be stained with blood.

He rose, easing himself from the gloom, from the darkness, although it was only the physical black that he escaped from. The stars greeted him the moment the water sloshed against the shores, a whisper against sand, the elements careful not to disturb the now stoic lord. In barely repressed silence, he made his way back to the place he called home.

The moment he found himself on safer land, he broke into a sprint. He assumed his true form without being aware of it, and lumbered through and over trees, valleys, and thick geysers of water, all obstacles in his path smashed, obliterated by the destruction of his peace. The land would match his sorrow.

Sesshomaru paused mid-stride, threw his head back, and let out howl after howl of anguish, his throat burning with hell-fire, grief swallowing him, leaving in its place the forlorn cries of devastation. For all those that heard the cries that night, they knew that a being was in mourning for the loss of something dear, for the loss of something that could never be retrieved again.

Desperation, love, and the expense of freedom came at the cost of shattered futures of bliss.


	2. Oblivion's Goodbye

"_Because I could not stop for Death,_

_He kindly stopped for me._

_The Carriage held but just ourselves_

_And Immortality"~Emily Dickinson_

Revelations were never the easiest claims to accept. The epiphany of life, of every single facet that could've reigned dominant, came without the promise of hope. No one ever said that coming to a concrete answer would secure happiness.

Five-hundred years. That was a life well-lived, a life that was young by royal youkai standards. He still had so much to discover, so much naivete to escape from, so much self-growth to follow through on. There was much to learn, so much to teach.

And yet, none of it mattered right now. For once in Sesshomaru's life, he couldn't bring himself to feel anything for his obligations. He was obligated to live, to protect his lands, his ward, and to seek an end to Naraku out of settling the personal score between them. That had been his original intentions, his motives.

Now, there was no meaning to those passionate duties that had been his life's purpose. All of it seemed meaningless, wasted time that could've been well-spent somewhere else, doing anything else.

Never had he felt this way in his entire life. He was born and raised of a high pedigree, the mantra drilled into his head that he was important, and had to be important to others. Strength came, through endless lessons with his father and mother, through losing his arm, and gaining compassion towards his human ward. The ignorance that had clouded his eyes like a miring of fog was blown away by the wind he had given his heart to. _She_ was the reason behind his change.

Nothing startled the heart more than realizing that every volition, every iron-clad will had been wrong from the very beginning.

During the trek home, Sesshomaru found himself thick in the heart of a black forest, one that was nearly devoid of light. The sunlight leaked through in patches, mainly filling the ground with shadow, drenching everything in a colorless sheet of reality. He stumbled once, and though his lack of grace should've surprised him, it didn't.

He caught himself, straightened his back, and immediately fell to the soil. If there were eyes upon him, either his father or mother from the youkai view of the afterlife, he cared not if he disgraced them with his affliction. Even if there had been a sudden barrage of every enemy he had created over the expanse of his life, circled around him in a sneering loop of derision, he would've let them do anything to him.

Sorrow manipulated his heart, and he let his new title be that of a puppet. Misery covered him like a cowl, obscuring all thoughts of music, of serenity. There was so much that was wrong, so much that he was completely unable to fix; and it killed him.

The once Demon Lord, the one that once coveted the Tetsusaiga that could fell one-hundred demon with one swing, was unable to save the love of his life. It was irony, for if he could save a human girl from the wounds inflicted by wolves, there should've been no reason why he couldn't save Kagura as well.

It wasn't the way that it was supposed to work. Yet, it was the way it was meant to be. He was meant to love passionately, briefly, and feel the all encompassing sadness of a falling star. The glittering entity had once hung, brilliantly in the velvet firmament with the notion that it was invincible. Then, little by little, it began collapsing into itself, and it imploded, vanishing into bleak, black nothingness.

There was never anything that he could think of that would've taught him this lesson: that he, Sesshomaru, was utterly _powerless_. His plans were for naught, his desire was short-lived, and any semblance of hope was futile. He had run a fool's errand, and he had come up empty in the soul, not of the hand.

Freedom would be hers, but the cost was that they would never be together. Never would he know the scent of her hair as she slept, the sweet aroma of the wind-tossed seas. Never again would he know the taste of her skin as she climaxed, the salty-sweet flavor he craved like fine wine. And _never_ would he be able to meet with her, or fuel the hope that he could free her without consequence or price. Why he thought there had been a way was a clear indication that he was an asinine, arrogant soul. All things had a price; the cost was eternal, endless death.

Sesshomaru couldn't help but wonder if this was how his father had felt, when he tore across the lands to save his human lover and child. He was bleeding from grave wounds, and donned nothing more than a shamble of his demure mannerisms, and yet he ran. He ran to his love, knowing that it was at the cost of his own life.

Why he was comparing himself to his Lord father was beyond him, for he wasn't worthy enough to stand in the silhouette of that honorable youkai, much less correlate himself in any way to him. Had he done things differently, he would never have known avarice, the snake that once threatened to devour him whole with jealousy. Never would he have known a grudge, and he would've treated his younger sibling, no matter the stained blood, with the respect that he deserved. The people he stepped on, the youkai he criticized, the beings that he had so despised were nothing more than reflections of the things he hated most about himself.

And now, in the fading twilight, he knew the soul-deep, shattering truth: that he, Sesshomaru, was nothing but a husk of pent-up pride, endless notions, and at the very last, a futile plan.

Had anyone been in the forest, or of able-body to witness the Lord's breakdown, not even the cruelest enemy he had made would've approached him. They would've been frozen to their spot with heart-stopping paralysis, with the shocking revelation that_ this_ was the Lord that was their enemy; he was utterly unrecognizable.

The flowing, chrome river of his hair fell around his body, like bands of unraveled silver thread, and instead of it being beautiful, it appeared as if was no more than a poorly made shield to hide his body from the world. The spotless attire he clothed himself in was now nothing more than a blood-spattered Rorschach of a garment, and it literally looked like he had clawed his way from Hell, claw and fang, until he collapsed under the black canopy of the trees. The Mokomoko appendage that wound around his right shoulder was now entirely unbound, and it fell at his feet in a heap of scarlet-splattered fur, pronouncing for all those that knew the youkai code as a symbol of abysmal distress.

The dagger fell from his left sleeve, and it clattered to the forest floor soundlessly. Sesshomaru resisted the urge to hurl it into the shadows, but he doubted that he could've lifted his head, even if his Lord father were before him, much less pick up an object right then.

He was a being abject of all emotions, aside from endless grief.

His eyes blinked, and they blurred with unshed, hot tears. Not caring who knew, what they stood for, or what it meant for his "_perfect_" image, he wept. It began silently until he could take it no longer. His mouth opened, and he gasped and took in deep lungfuls of air, almost as if he was afraid he would lose his ability to breathe entirely. The sobs that shook his body made him feel as if he was stranded on a homeland in the middle of an earth-razing earthquake. The gesture hurt his body, and the onslaught of emotions stole his breath, his rationale, and all ability to think clearly.

There was no other way. If there had been, it would've made itself known to him. This was destined, fated, written in the stars in a red pattern of constellations.

His claws dug into the earth, and he tore bits of grass and soil with the clenching of his fists. This was a curse it seemed, on his family blood-line. His father had known his mother, and she had died when he had barely been one-hundred years of age. His father had mated the human princess, and his body had been subjected to the flames of Hell, the fire that was so eager to consume and replace one fiery passion for the next. His own brother had been trapped to a tree, betrayed and played by his first love, and now...it was his turn.

It was a warped twist of fate, this bewitchment on his head. How he longed to smash what the Fate's declared to be truth, and if he could, he would leave their celestial palace in utter ruin. The diamond pillars would fall, shatter, and he would steal his beloved's soul from beyond the grave.

It was impossible though, a word he finally knew the meaning of. Reality had never been colder to him, or more distancing from the world that he had known for five-hundred years.

Yellow, sickly eyes narrowed, and he finally raised his head. There was no one around, and the sound of bird-song was distant. Twilight had fled, and blackness surrounded him, in a bleak dance of silhouettes. The yearning to sleep, to close his eyes was the most tempting offer. Sleep offered release from a world that gave him an awful answer, and he longed for that, more than anything.

If things looked better in the morning, brighter with the dawn's first light, he wished to experience that.

Tired, blood-shot eyes slipped closed, and his body went limp immediately.

The dagger glittered in the slice of moonlight that slithered through the trees, the only light in that part of the forest. Even in dreams, in the waking world, Sesshomaru couldn't escape his oath.

* * *

><p>The blessing was in a black, dreamless sleep. No trace of nightmare touched his psyche with terrible visions that night, or early in the morning. For that, he was thankful. He thought he would surely lose his sanity if he was to experience such terror once more.<p>

Sesshomaru blinked several times, and he was met with a forest ablaze in light. The sunlight streamed through the tree branches, setting everything in a gilded glow. Everything was beautiful, but he knew that it was a rare beauty. This light showed him that this was a simple loveliness, without the taint of thought or intentions; it came from nature, and it would be immortal.

Never had he conceived such a poignant, morbid thought before.

Something flashed to his left, and he reached for it with his left hand, his reflexes gripping the hilt of the blade before he knew what he was doing. He was nearly sick, but he gripped it tighter, almost as if he were mocking his earlier sadness and misery. Upon this small action, the action that meant everything, he knew that he would rise out of the pit he had lain in.

It was just a matter of getting up, rising, and acting on what needed to be done. Logic defeated misery, every time.

Sesshomaru placed the dagger in his sleeve, and gently, eased himself from his crouched position on the ground. He looked at the mess of his clothing and felt strands of his hair sticking to his face, obscuring his vision. This wouldn't do.

Gingerly - a word that had never before described the Demon Lord - Sesshomaru brushed the hair from his eyes. His hands got tangled halfway through in the slick disaster of tresses, and he nearly tore out chunks in his frustration to the failure of personal grooming.

A frustration more akin to rage.

Anger consumed him then, and he snarled, yearning for every bestial urge to come forth and surge over him, like a thunderous wave of the ocean.

Before he knew what was happening, the trees that surrounded him in a wide, interloping half-circle were obliterated to little more than splinters. When that wasn't enough, roots were tore from the ground, smashed, and any hope of there being a re-growth was based on wishful thinking alone. Stones shuddered from the earth, and they were picked up, only to fall once more, like a bitter hail from the heavens.

Any animal that was caught in this unfortunate crossfire was immediately killed, and the sight of blood lined Sesshomaru's vision. Bird's shrieked and took to the skies, frantically fleeing from the being that disrupted the peace of the morning.

From his years of suppression, of thinking that withholding memories, emotions, and any thought of pain was weakness, the world now knew of this ultimate, visceral release. The aftermath was a horrific, painful sight for any phantom witness to perceive.

Snarls tore from his mouth, the anger he had always kept at bay now enveloping him with the skill of a lover.

_Lover_...his mind denied that so heavily that his head jerked up, the head that now housed crimson-filled oculars, pointed fangs.

_Lover_. _Love_. The woman he _loved_...

The color leached from his eyes, his fangs retracted, and he looked to his hands. They were coated with splinters, drying blood, and bits of foliage. This was evidence of how his life had collapsed around him, turning from an iron pedestal into sand overnight.

All from the truth. All from the bitter, bitter truth.

Sesshomaru took one step forward, and then another. He longed to sink to his knees, to scream his vocal cords ragged, and simply, to_ live_ with the woman who changed him.

'_Why must the one who changed me be subjected to death?' _Could he make the trek back to Death's doorway once more, and beg that she live, in exchange for his life? Would a barter of souls be what Death desired, more than the last breath of his beloved?

He had _almost_ took off, fleeing onto the path like a wraith freed from the underworld. He had _almost_ found hope, buried though it was under the destruction of any ill-conceived faith. _Almost_.

The voice was loud and clear, so pronounced that it completely jarred him. There was no such thing as honor, as strength when such sorrow mired his life now. The prince gasped aloud, his eyes opening when the somber tone of the cognition slipped passed his defenses.

_"There can be no trade. Use the suffering of the blade for a moment of agony, or resign her to a lifetime of ceaseless servitude."_

The ghost of option flickered like the drenched wick of a candle, and it was diminished entirely by the breath of Death. There were beings more powerful than him, and he could do nothing but kneel before them.

Almost did he do just that. He almost fell to his knees, once more weeping like a newborn who needed its mother. Almost. But he didn't. The pieces of what he once considered pride were at his feet, like fragments of spider-webbed glass, and he chose to walk through it.

Sesshomaru took one step, then another, and then walking became something automatic. He walked not with his usual air of dignity, but bereft of any semblance of certainty. He walked like a man possessed with an internal sadness that knew no end, a man that only knew the auto-pilot functions of moving forward, step by painful step.

He knew precisely where he was going, though he truly wasn't aware of it. He was on his lands in a private glade that would take him to a thundering waterfall, one that could be used for cleansing waters, for bathing and meditation. Once, weeks after his father had passed, he had meditated under the falls for three days straight, and afterwards, he found a clarity and high that he never thought he would come down from.

He had been wrong once more.

Sesshomaru found that he was halfway waded into the shores before he realized he was still fully dressed. Mechanically, he shed the garments and simply threw his clothes on the rocks, not caring about folding them, about propriety. He was too far gone to care about what was deemed proper.

However, he did make sure that the dagger was safely concealed in his clothing. Nothing would touch it without getting surpassed by the overwhelming aura of demise, but he wanted to be careful. Only he could deliver the ultimate freedom.

Sesshomaru walked into the water, and the roar of the falls never seemed so loud to him before. The water was cold, but he hardly noticed. He kept his eyes straight ahead, and they blinked every so often with the glare of the sunlight on the surface. Had there been a moon, he wouldn't have blinked at all.

Without a moment to collect himself, he submersed his body in the water. The chill shocked his senses, sending him to a state of full alertness. He kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and in the blackness, it felt as if he were floating in an unsuspended state, a state he wished he could remain in, for all of time.

His eyes opened, and he crashed to the surface, gasping, breathing, searching the area for something unspoken, for something unknown. There was no one around, and for once in his years, he felt the gulf of solitude, the loneliness that reminded every seemingly invincible creature of their true size. He felt so small all of a sudden, and it terrified him.

Somehow, despite what fears his mind projected, his spine straightened, almost in a challenge to this invisible enemy that dared claim he was unworthy, the antagonist that threatened his own self-worth. He had been demolished by his own emotions, the emotions that he had kept deep within, pent-up, until they had surged forward in a rush that no being could've ever hoped to contain. It was such a realization, such a reality check, that he surely thought he would've been destroyed by the onslaught of such claims.

If he was here, if he could feel the chill of the water, the ebbing warmth of the sunlight, as well as the still-there pang of grief, he knew he had survived. He was alive, not in the same manner, but in a way that guaranteed he was taking nothing for granted. His was not an ignorant existence any longer, but one that had looked reality in the face, accepted it, and chose to move forward from it.

Chagrin filled his mouth, and it rose with the intensity of illness. He held it back, and it abated as quickly as it had come. Shame threatened his body with self-doubt, with self-criticism, but he held that back as well. There was no time to succumb to the depths of inner-derision. What mattered now, was this sunlight, this day, and the thought of what he had to do. He had broken down and fell into the embrace of sorrow in its entirety, but now he found the strength to ease out of those cold, pulsing arms. Life awaited, and the promise of the one he would soon hold warmed him.

Sesshomaru bowed his head, and he washed his hair thoroughly, cherishing the feeling of the chemicals in the stream as they cleansed the impurities from his body. This was a baptism of sorts, a self-truth that erased every foul action he had ever done in his life.

He emerged from the stream a new being, a new spirit that was prepared for what he had to do. Internally, his heart beat with the truth that killed him. Yet, he continued walking, knowing just what had to be done. It would be so beautiful, yet so terrible.

The sunlight gleamed on the surface of the water, as if urging him on with the reminder of time itself. The pendulum would be the scarlet of twilight, and by that time, the deed would be done.

Sesshomaru dressed quickly in his hakamas, ankle-high boots and his kimono. He reached for his armor and literally threw it into the water, the sound of it sinking and bubbling music to his ears. There was no need to shield himself from anything. He grasped the hilts of both the Tenseiga, a sword he was now humbled to have, as well as Tokijin, and pictured them sailing through the air, whistling by unseen and unheard, deep into the castle chambers of his home. He had no need for them anymore, no need for weapons, or for gaudy decoration.

If he wanted, he could shred the red chrysanthemum crest from his shoulders, indicating his abdication from the pettiness of titles, of vanity, and of pride. There was no need for it anymore, no need at all. However, he wanted to look his best for the one he only had a short time with.

There was no time to return, to speak of what happened. What he knew was that time was slipping away, every second and moment bleeding into the next, becoming an endless torrent of ever-moving lights and shapes. It was up to him to reach forward in those sounds and illuminations and claim this day for his own. For, afterwards, nothing would be the same.

He regretted not being able to share this moment with his human ward, with the little Rin that would be taken care of like royalty. A feeling of endless peace filled his spirit when a premonition flitted over his eyes: the picture of Rin's smile as she looked upon the whole of Japan, as a human bride. She would marry the one known as Kohaku, and her life would be filled with mirth and the laughter of her many children. She would speak of the legend of the strong Demon Lord that took her in, and brought her back to life. Never would she know horror, ever again. His legacy had reassured that, along with the association she had with him. That would protect her for the rest of her days. There was no more regret, only revelation.

His once stone-cold lips turned to the skies in a smile, a true smile that was unafraid of his duty. The only thing that could've made him happiest was one person, one being that would be at his side very soon.

Sesshomaru reached into the folds of his kimono and retrieved a long, white feather. Gently, as if caressing her back, he brushed the stem of the feather with his claws. He felt a jolt of an electric current coat through his skin, almost as if something were stroking his inner-most soul right then. She had used this enchanted object as a means to communicate with him, if he should ever be in want of her company. How foolish he was to think that he would never not need _her_ company.

'_Kagura,'_ he spoke _'are you able to be with me, all day?'_ It was a stretch to think that she could get away with it, but she had done it before. Naraku seemed to have turned a blind eye to her, but Sesshomaru knew better. Deep down, Naraku always knew what was going on with his counterparts, for they were simply an extra extension of himself. Her "Master" was letting her get away with this, for he thought that it was nothing more than a passing phase, a fever of the flesh and a fancy just as superficial. There was never a statement more false than that.

He heard a chuckle, and it set his skin on fire. _'Yes. Look behind you.' _Sesshomaru opened his eyes, heard the rushing of the tailwinds of a tornado, and was met with his love.

She was crouched before him in recovery of her flight, and with the slightly disheveled kimono, ruffled hair, and an inquiring expression, never had she looked more beautiful. Kagura stood, placed her feather securely on her hair, and smiled at him. It wasn't the playful half-smirk her mouth was set in when she had something interesting on her mind. It was the smile that was reserved solely for himself, purely for his own eyes. Once, when they were laying in the open sunlight, she told him so softly that she had never known a true smile, before she had one to smile for.

Every time she did that, the smallest of gestures, he found that his pulse roared to life, as if he had shifting magma beneath his veins. She brought him to life, shook him from what he had so foolishly become, and stripped away anything foul about his person; for the time that she shared with him, he had become something worthy of Life itself.

The thought rattled him, for he knew the magnitude of their passion now. It was a roaring blaze, one that would have endless fodder on it for the remainder of the day. It was up to him to ignite it, right then.

Sesshomaru walked towards her, and before they had the chance to exchange verbal pleasantries, they found themselves in rapt of one another's lips. His tongue delved into her mouth, she moaned and fell against him, and he knew true peace. Her hands tangled in his hair, and he gripped her shoulders, gently caressing the fabric of her kimono with his claws. This was his beloved, the one he would free.

Such thoughts, for the moment, he could forget. He lost himself in the abyss of her kiss, in the sounds that she expressed, for his ears only, and he was swallowed by a euphoria that knew no end. She was the one who was worth that entire endeavor, the being that he wouldn't forsake for anything. If he had to, he would do it all over again, just for him to end up right in this spot, kissing her for all the world to see.

His lips trailed from her mouth, down her neck. Her moans were ecstasy, and she gripped his back, bracing herself as if her knees should buckle.

"You're so forward this morning...what's come over you?" He sensed the teasing, sultry tone in her voice, and it made him want her even more.

Gently, but rough enough to where she would enjoy it, he flipped her on her back. His hands rested on the grass, and their eyes connected in a clash of the whirlwind of snow and the lapping heat of flames. In her eyes, he saw what was reflected in his own: a feverish, playful passion. It surprised her he knew, for he normally would've greeted her, and then claimed her mouth. She sensed something was amiss, but she had no idea how it would later affect her.

"There's no sense in propriety when the object of your desire wants you just as deeply." A slight flush came to her cheeks, and he found that the color was most becoming on her. It reminded him of the sprinkling of rose petals in the midst of a freshly fallen snow drift, a lovely contradiction.

Her eyes sparkled with mirth, and he knew that she was happier than she had been since he last saw her. It was sometimes impossible for her to come and see him, and late in the evenings, they communicated with her feathers, and it was all he could do to not seek every crevice and mountain overpass until he annihilated Naraku, just for her. Forget what Naraku did to him, for it was of no consequence; it was what Naraku continued to do to a being he gave life to, and then used for his own selfish gain that deserved comeuppance.

She reached up, and touched her mouth to his with a hint of innocence, almost as if she had never tasted his lips before. Her tongue gently eased his mouth open, and in the expanse of a few moments, they knew one another's mouths. Their eyes closed, and they gave in to the desire they had for one another, one that went far beyond the level of their physical beauty and attraction.

In each other, they saw kindred spirits, spirits that the world couldn't understand even if they had the rest of eternity. In each other, their facades that they were forced to show the world splintered, and the sound was the symphony of the angels, a euphony that knew no literal end. The joining of their hands, of their bodies made them feel complete, as if they were a split entity coming together once more, in the literal and mental coupling. It was a holy sanction, a unification that went far beyond making love.

Clothes were shed, every portion of skin was celebrated, and they both cried out to the heavens from their release, a climax that was the closest they had ever felt to touching the Divine. They touched, and the mere brush of their hands ignited a feeling so surreal, no jumbling of words could have even began to express the depth, the profound effect it had on both parties. It was unity, in the truest sense of the world.

After this time, Kagura cried once more. He lapped away her tears, took her in his arms, and traced the mark that she was so ashamed of, the brand that displayed that she was owned. Soon, she would be owned by nothing more than the wind itself.

She stirred, wiped at her eyes, and glanced up at him in consternation. "Why do you deal with me when I'm like this? Surely you think I'm pathetic." His expression was filled with such alarm, she reeled back a few centimeters.

The moment she leaned back, he gripped her shoulders in both of his hands. "_Never_, not even in the beginning of our tryst, would I label you as pathetic. You are _very _worthy of me." Her eyes opened wide, almost as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. In his words, he was revealing his love for her, his utter adoration for a being that inflamed his heart with the fires of life.

Kagura's head tilted to the left, almost as if she were seeing something in his face that she had never noticed before. Hesitantly, she reached forward and brushed the hair back from his face. Her gaze pierced right through him with an inquiry, and nothing was lost in her ruby-red intellect.

Finally, she spoke. "Sesshomaru...your expressions are so different. Your eyes...and your voice..." she trailed off, almost as if she realized she was speaking nonsense. "Never mind."

Her gaze drifted towards the ground, but he gently tilted her chin up. He smiled to her, and the gesture must've been so unique, so enchanting, that she inhaled sharply. Color rushed to her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled, whether with unshed tears or with the inner-light of revelation, he knew not. What he did know, was that she was aware that this smile, the one that he had created and unearthed, was now only for her. In this sacred hour, he was showing her everything he had become, in its entirety. This new being could only be shared with one person, lest it be spoiled.

That might've been a frantic thought, one that was created from the inevitability of what had to occur later, what needed to be done. For now though, he banished those thoughts from his mind.

"This smile is entirely for you. It is unprecedented by nothing else, aside from your existence." He raised his hands, and gently caressed her hair, showing her that what he held in his hands was precious enough to be treated in such a manner. She was precious, for all eternity. She had to leave this world knowing that she was loved, held dear beyond the truest definition of the world.

Kagura looked at him almost as if she could sense something was deeply wrong with his behavior. She looked at him as if she saw a stranger instead of the Demon Lord whom she shared a mutual, irrefutable bond with. Then, her suspicion shattered in a myriad of jubilation, revealing nothing but happiness in her eyes.

"I love it." Her cheeks instantly colored, and he felt a laugh slip through his lips. She started once more, but relaxed instantly, arching her neck as if she were a swan that was preparing for a dive. She basked in his laughter the way a sun-deprived child favored the rays of the sunlight, and the gesture was so beautiful, so accepting of who he was, that he found himself smiling even more. Why he had rarely done it before was beyond his understanding. "Your smile I mean. And your laugh. It's nice."

He felt himself chuckling once more, and the sound made Kagura open her eyes. She blinked, and he knew scarlet eternity. "I am thankful you find the sudden change alluring." His gaze dropped to her lips, and then flickered to her eyes. "Tell me...what do you love?"

She gripped his back with her hands, and her legs wound around his hips. He eased her onto her back, and he kissed a path from her stomach, all the way to her lips. Their mouths met, and he knew peace, wondrous peace that canceled out all thought of an end. "Tell me, Kagura."

Their faces hovered close enough to one another, close enough to where they would be able to hear the words forming before they were spoken. Sesshomaru brushed the bridge of his nose above her own, and her eyes sparkled with a bliss that knew no confinements, no such word as boundary.

The word came out as a gasp, but it was beyond retrieval. "You." Her eyes focused on his, and in them, he saw the solid, concrete truth. "It's only ever been you."

This was the moment where affirmation had its say, where the bridges of what duty meant to him were destroyed. He wasn't obligated to tell her, but he chose to. He only ever spoke the truth.

"If I knew love before you, it was not love at all. It is you, and no other." Tears sparkled from her eyes, and their kiss sealed the end to one sadness, opening up another world of melancholy.

Soon. He would tell her soon.

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><p>The day had been beautiful, in every sense of the word. The pair had had the chance to do activities that they had not the time, nor the means to do before. It was as if Time itself had bestowed upon them the gift of a full day, a day of perfect weather.<p>

Sesshomaru walked hand in hand with Kagura through the forests, and they pretended that the world was their own. He mentioned to her that if he had created the world, that he would want for there to be a way to bathe her in sunlight, for never had she looked more beautiful than when the sun shone down on her. Her eyes met the ground, and then his eyes. She was still shy in an innocent way, but her soul was as old as his was, if not as experienced. In her life, he knew that she had not known more than endless injustice, tyranny, and slaughter that was on her hands. This day erased all of her past hurt, the punishments, and replaced them with a day all her own, a day that she could share with him.

The places that they ventured to were surreal and secluded with barely any wildlife roaming about. It was unusual, for it was the time of year where everything was in a flurry of activity, eager and energetic with their species. It only added to the mystical feeling that for the day, they were in charge of the world, and that it was their secret place, theirs for the taking.

Silence remained unbroken, but never was it tense. It was peaceful, a calm that had no underlying feelings of swallowed words. When it was broken, the words were without shame, for there was no need for embarrassment for confessions. Kagura told him about what she remembered from the first time she existed, up until right then. She spoke of the revulsion she held for her own life, and how she would love nothing more than to kill Naraku. At first, panic lined his heart, for he knew that somewhere in a shadow-drenched room, Naraku was keeping an ear open for any back-talk against him. Then, the feeling of premonition he had experienced earlier that day came over him, and he knew that there would be no pain for her, by Naraku's hand, today.

He comforted her, and then she asked him about himself. So, he told her. He told her about his father and the ideals he held to be true, as well as what he could recall of his mother. Also, he told her that he didn't truly hate Inuyasha. He hated the way that he had once made him feel, so powerless and unworthy of what his father wanted out of him. Then, he told her about the peace he made with that, and he saw admiration in her eyes. He spoke also about Rin and about how she had come to play a large role in his life. He told her how she was getting taller and that she absorbed all the information that he told her, as well how well she was doing with the lessons Jaken instilled upon her.

Their lives were discussed, until there was nothing left to say. When there wasn't, silence reigned dominant, and it was peaceful, a soothing tranquility that was nothing short of perfect. The day itself was perfection, Sesshomaru knew. It was a time that all beings dreamed about, a day that knew no suffering, no taint of everlasting commitments for titles, or servitude. It was a day without the affliction most mortals carried with them, and every youkai as well.

He was blessed, ever so blessed.

Two hours before sunset, he knew that it was time to tell her. He needed to speak of what he had been doing, the mission that he had completed, aside from the most important aspect of his quest.

They were leaning against one another on the ledge of a boulder, one that showed a picturesque view of the countryside. Trees, villages, and deep rivulets of streams were carved into the land, and it looked so flawless, Sesshomaru thought it a portrait for a brief moment.

He turned to her, and the words came out. He told her how he wanted nothing more than for her to be free, nothing more than for her to live without the fear of endless pain. She deserved so much more than that, so much more than for her life to be lived in vain in such a regard.

The crimson eyes he so adored flared with such an intensity, he wondered if she would strike him, weep, or listen to every word he said. She simply listened, and for that, he was thankful.

Also, he told her about all of the travels he had gone on, all of the journeys to find the answer to his question, the question that had become his sole right. Her eyes opened wide, first in awe, then in admiration, and then finally, in barely suppressed sadness. He could sense what she was thinking, down to the last strand of a thought. She was deeply humbled and honored that he went to such lengths just for her, and to that, he nodded to her, affirming what words never could: that she was worth every effort. At the end of that elation however, was a horror that knew no words: that he didn't find his answer, or that he did, and it was the most tragic thing that could've ever existed.

Then, he spoke of his trip to Death. He told her about the battles, the staircase made of bone, as well as the awful way that the spirits had yearned for nothing more than his life. Then, he described Death, from her dress made of soot and gems, to the mask, to the way he literally knelt before her in his pleading.

All sound seemed to stop in their world then, and even the noise of their breathing halted, as if they had ceased to breathe entirely.

Kagura gripped his hand, and the trepidation in her eyes was greater than her hope. He spoke of what happened, the answer to the question that they had dared to ask before, with such naivete towards what was real, what they had both known all along: that the only way for her to be free, was to die.

He showed her the dagger, and he set it several feet away from them. He glared at it with such ferocity, that if he had the ability, it would have burst into flames with the effort.

"Upon this weapon, you will die swiftly, without the torment your Master will inflict upon you." He wished to say more, but he couldn't. His voice was frozen beneath the chill of reality, hidden far beneath the cold surface of the fiber of truth itself.

Kagura turned from the weapon, and met his eyes. In her eyes was endless gratitude, something that he knew she couldn't place into words. No one, not even the most skilled tongue, could've crafted a sentence, a paragraph, or a monologue that declared the appreciation she felt for him. It was boundless, without any sense of an end. Then, she saw the way sorrow came over his features, etching them in the chiseled marks of remorse.

He bowed his head, and she gripped him to her chest, comforting him now. The tears that he thought he ran out of came once again, and he knew that a being simply couldn't run out of tears, in the same way that he couldn't run out of love for her; it was impossible.

They gripped each other fiercely, and once his episode was over, they rocked each other, memorizing the feeling of having one another in their arms. This was a sensation he would recall, a feeling he would never grow tired of.

Finally, Kagura spoke. "I would rather have you kill me, for you already hold my life. It makes sense if you're the one to take it away." She smiled up at him, but it was no weak, half-faltering grin. This was a smile that was forged through endless hardship, through the past doubt of the thought that she would never smile again, much less feel happy again. This was the smile of someone who was eager to be free, of someone who was about to experience something she had only dreamed about. Hers would be an eternal dream.

They both looked to the horizon at the same time, and both felt a piercing ache hit their chest. It was coming on sunset, and both knew that was when one life would be taken, at the expense of freedom.

Still, Kagura smiled, and it was more brilliant, more alive than he had ever seen her. She stood up, held out her hand, and helped him to his feet. He had no time to feel revulsion for the fact that _she_ had to be strong for _him_, and not the other way around. With the way she looked at him, in a glance that showed that she didn't mind in the least, and loved him all the more for feeling so deeply, he knew peace.

Quickly, he picked up the dagger, and placed it in his left sleeve pocket. The hour had arrived, the pendulum swung, and one of them would know a conclusion.

He gripped Kagura in his arms, and took to the skies on his mist. She buried her face deep into his neck, and placed her hand over his heart. She wished to know what it felt like, minutes before she left this world, to feel his heart. She owned it, forevermore.

"I want for you to be comfortable. Tell me where you wish to lay." Kagura nodded and looked down at the orange-bathed lands. The entirety of the countryside was washed over in an ochre hue, cloaked in the rising of the shadows. Darkness would claim the both of them, very soon.

"There. I want it to be there." She pointed towards an empty glade, one that was completely surrounded by trees on all sides. It looked like a sphere had been cut out of the forest, merely for this place of a peaceful, bloody passing to be possible. It was the way the Fate's had intended it, the way that it was meant to be.

The thought filled him with so much consternation, so much endless rage that he nearly took off in the other direction. He entertained the briefest fancy of taking her to the ends of the earth and fighting off whatever dared threaten the both of them. That's what made it a fantasy however: it would never happen, for he wouldn't let it.

Softly, he landed in the grass. She gripped him fiercely, feverishly, and he clasped her body to his as if it were the only thing that supported his entire being. Then, he released her.

Kagura landed on her feet, and she stood on her toes to kiss him. They gripped one another, their mouths met, and the kiss shared between the both of them was the most passionate, and brief feeling they had ever felt. It was lightning, the flare of embers, and the endless torrent of falling stars.

She smiled at him, and then she danced. The wind picked her up, and she twirled around on the breeze, owning her element, becoming one with the dance. She turned up her hands, threw her arms out, and performed a pirouette in mid-air. Never before had she appeared so mystical, nor was the truth of her existence more pronounced than right then. Hers was a beauty that needed to last, that needed to be etched in the tablets of immortality.

The smile on her lips was genuine as she landed on the grass, her back to the ground. Her face was turned to the stars, and she was more than ready to greet Death, like the ever-constant companion it played in the whole of life.

The blade weighed down on his arm as if he had wrapped steel around his forearm, and he knew that it was merely his subconscious creating the cumbersome weight. He would use it for its intended purpose, and the thought hurt him more than he could've ever expressed.

He made his way over to her and when he was several feet away, bowed before her, as if she were a Queen, a Lady, someone worthy of far more than she gained in this life. In this instant of utter decorum, he gave her the respect and appreciation she was more than deserving of.

When he lifted his head, she was still smiling. Tears were shining in her eyes, but he knew that they were not happy tears, nor tears of a broken heart. They were bittersweet tears, tears that knew that this had been destined all along, in the doom of their passion. It was fated from the start of their meetings, from the beginning of their lives even. There was nothing to be done about it, which was the sad part. The wondrous part, was that it happened.

Sesshomaru revealed the blade, and in the faint, twinkling light of the hidden stars, it gleamed with an inner-strength. It wanted her life, and his hand would claim it. His hand shook the entire time he wrapped his arm around her back, and as Kagura made her kimono slide to her hips, the tip of the dagger touched her skin. It was as if the weapon had a mind of its own, and it yearned for nothing more than to slip in-between her flesh, to the bone, wounding her gravely.

'_No.'_ He would control it, and nothing more. Sesshomaru tussled with the ability of the sword, and the essence of the weapon threatened to overpower him more than once. He felt the smallest trickle of blood escape one ear, and Kagura started when she saw this. In the concentrated set of his eyes, he revealed that he was controlling the blade. _He_ wanted to be the one to end her life, and not the possessed weapon. Tears rolled from her eyes, and she opened her arms wide, as if embracing the acceptance that would be her reality.

The spirit abated, the pair drew a breath, and the knife slipped through Kagura's back, and with applied pressure, came out the part of her chest where her heart would beat, had she an organ. She exhaled sharply, and he knew that to his utter despair, he had to push the blade in deeper to kill her fully.

His vision swam, his heart beat roared in his ears, and all the while, Kagura looked up at him. Her lips parted, and she began to say something. "Your armor... you removed it, for me." She slumped forward in her pain, but she wasn't through living yet. "Please...do it. Set me free."

_Free_. That's what this was for: _her freedom_. She would still exist in everything he saw, in the lessons he learned from her, and in the way that she had captivated his heart for the rest of his life. She just wouldn't be beside him, which was the hardest part.

He pushed the blade in as far as it could go, a cry was heard, and his love fell limp in his arms. She took several deep breaths, gasped with a faint, wet noise, and was suddenly still. Kagura was dead, completely free.

Somewhere, he knew that Naraku sensed this as well, and would send out his minions to find the body. That would never happen, for there would be nothing left to find. Come the dawn, she would be gone, glittering like the bands of sunlight he wished to bathe her in. She would become the wind, blow the taint of the land away, and give all life the breath that it craved.

Gently, he eased the blade out of her chest, calmly set it to the right, and cradled her to his body. Whimpers left his mouth, but he was completely out of tears, out of ways to express his sadness. There were no words for his grief, for the emptiness of what his existence had now become. All variations of syllables were lost on the black waves of his subconscious, a place where he wished he could scream, wished he could cry, wished he could destroy, merely to feel. For, all he felt was the soothing ache of what oblivion promised. His farewell was empty, his plea was hollow, and nothingness would encompass his life, like a metal cocoon that wished to show him endless agony for the remainder of his endless days.

Endless days, endless time. The pendulum would swing, severing his days in half again and again, the sunrise would bleed, the stars would taunt him, and any thought of mercy, or miracles would vanish when he conceived them.

Carefully, he lay with Kagura down on the grass. The emotion sent forth a flurry of dust into the sky, and it seemed to wink at him, taunting him with promises of light, of a life with light in it. That was impossible, for it just wouldn't be.

The yellow glow of fireflies came, as did his ability to feel. He _felt_ like he had never felt before, and it made him moan aloud. The body in his arms was still warm, but just barely. Soon, it would be cold, and there would be nothing left. In his fancy, in his frantic and fragile state of mind, Sesshomaru considered building a fire, if only to warm her up for the rest of the night, up until she would indubitably vanish.

The light of the fireflies danced around him in a dizzying array of yellow light, reminding him of sunlight, of his lover's banter on how he wished to bathe Kagura with it. He blinked many times, but his vision remained spotty, blurred around the edges. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but he didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to sleep, for that meant that the body in his arms would disappear, dispersing into wherever Death claimed bodies.

His heart began to beat rapidly, as if he were at the peak of making love, and he voiced his discomfort in a low moan, a sound that was pitiful to his own ears. He took a few deep breaths, but that didn't help the sensation. It felt as if his heart were growing in his chest, growing to gargantuan proportions, and because of it, his breath was stolen as compensation.

Stolen. Compensation. Everything had a price. Nothing was free, _nothing_.

The thought angered him, and his breath was stolen once more. His vision danced, spotting over in a mixture of yellow and black dots. Never had his eyelids been so heavy in all of his life, and his resistance halted.

His chest squeezed, and he took in air sharply. Every nerve in his body felt as if he was on fire, but the frame itself appeared weightless.

Weightless...he liked this feeling.

Then, he knew what was happening: a blessing was occurring, one he was more than willing to face.

With a smile, he closed his eyes for the final time. Oblivion greeted him, memory engulfed him, and he knew no more pain.

The fireflies twinkled, and two of the insects flew away, dancing and swaying into the night.


	3. Voids' Farewell

Part 3. This is the end of this very short story, and this is what I meant when the ending isn't necessarily happy, for the reader must take the word of the beings known as Death. In the words of a very good Inuyasha fan fiction author, "_There had to be something definite. Their love HAD to live forever, and I knew the only way to do that was to give them something more than life."_

This is my personal view of celestial beings, the ideal creatures of death, time, and so forth.

Thank you all for your favorites, your words, and your time. As always, I own nothing. If I did...don't let me finish that sentence, I won't cease with my demands.

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><p>"<em>Years, following years, steal something every day;<em>

_At last they steal us from ourselves away." ~Horace_

There were countless instances where man had attempted to dissuade Her from the post she held. The tests to reach Her were purposefully challenging, for only the elite could walk into Her world unscathed, much less emerge with answers. Only the strong received their reward.

Still, they tried. The attempts ranged from pitiful, in which case Her familiars devoured men and warrior alike, or chased them from Her lands for sport.

Some made it halfway, realized they were playing upon the battlefield of a deadly game, and ran until their legs gave out. Others made it halfway and then died, either with the nobility of acceptance, or with the meager light of sorrow in their eyes.

Those that made it down into her domain were not the same as they had been at the start of their journey. Such a notion was unavoidable. They were bleeding from dripping stumps where an arm, or a leg used to be. Others gasped on poison, their lungs unable to resist against the taint of the oxygen. Their requests died on crackling venom-bleached lips, but still she upheld Her position.

For those who came before Her, there was a small percentage of those who were too stunned to utter their questions. Be they a foolish and heart-brave human, a lowly oni, or a youkai, they found that the words they had longed so desperately to speak dissolved in their throats, evaporated by the horror of Her world.

Sometimes, their fear amused Her, for she thought that the place she made Her home was quite opulent, in a macabre way.

Words chattered on clacking teeth, beads of sweat slicked over grimy brows, and the fever of faith flared to life in black-pupiled oculars. The requests had not changed, even after the centuries. Illness, diseases. Child-bearing gone nightmarishly wrong. Infants, stolen before they could walk. Wars, the fault of natural disasters, storms...on and on, for a spiraling pit of eternity, did she listen. They were worthy, hence she gave them Her full attention.

Her answer left some satisfied, but not many.

Driven mad by the answer, some threw themselves at the remnants of Her minions, and the sound of smacking mouths and crunching bones was a steady cacophony in her chambers. Others begged, claiming they would sell themselves, give up, pay _any_ price for the one they had traveled all this way for. Tears meant nothing to Her, nor did the ugly staccato of sobbing stir the recesses of empathy. She had no heart, hence she felt nothing for them.

The others...they stumbled out, some half-crawling, whispering or raving about justice, about life and what would become of them. They hurled every curse at Her, every foul word that spoke of how unfair she was being; she would take them soon.

There were those that left with acceptance. There were those that had managed to summon strength and wreath it around their bodies, not caring about loss of limb and pride. They smiled, for they had made it here, to a place where no one simple of spirit could make it to. That alone was a feat in itself, one that they celebrated in their minds, even if the reality was tainted black with the thievery of life. These human, youkai, and oni left with a smile on their lips, and they only served to perplex her.

In the hour when she had nothing to ponder, no life to snatch and throw into whatever manner of afterlife they served, she thought about these souls. Why, she wondered, would they be so content to make it to Her, simply to speak? Why would they care so much about being answered, about overcoming an obstacle that was infinitely smaller compared to the beings she was created from? Humans, and everything lower than Her, were so easily satisfied.

The last soul that came to Her held particular interest to Her mind. This being was named after the perfection that slew all in its path, merely to be flawless, this Sesshomaru that had once coveted power and the ultimate way to defeat an enemy that had done him wrong. His spirit had once longed for no one or thing other than the nebulous title that would serve as a panoply over everything in his life.

What separated him from the blurs of voices, of faces and poorly fashioned questions was his compassion, the change in spirit that held precedence over all facets of his personality. The soul he had been born with, thrived in, and lived with was different than the soul she saw within him during that moment. Before, he had been like the unforgiving winds of winter, very much a blistering chill that both coated his spirit in frost, and obliterated all thought of outward kindness. His features, though they held extreme beauty, seemed to be carved in marble, for they were always unflinching and impassive. Even the eyes reflected the frigidity, and it surprised Her that those who he focused his gaze on didn't turn to stone.

The being he had been, and the being before Her were separate entities.

Once, his clothes had been in immaculate shape, mended and trimmed to fit his body frame. The garments that had at one time gleamed with a royal, elite touch were now drenched in gore and the filth of what he had trekked through to reach Her. Some of it stained his hair and armor, but he had not bothered to wipe it away, or make means of presenting himself. This was rare, for with youkai, especially if they were pure-bred, tended to favor looking their best, at all times. This shattered any air of eminence he might have had, and for that, this Sesshomaru held Her attention.

He appeared startled, weather-beaten, and above all, sick with desperation. It emanated off of him in great waves, almost becoming a tangible mist in the acidic air. He wanted an answer, not for his life, but for the life of another.

This was what had sparked the great change: another person, another being.

He was before Her with his head bowed, his knee on Her staircase, displaying the decorum of a commoner to their Lady. This was significant in a portentous way; this act showed Her just how far he was willing to go to seek his answer to the question that had gone without a reply.

_"I seek an answer, a way for a being to live."_ She laughed, for she did not deal with matters of life. She could however, perform against Her title, if it was fated. Even youkai forgot that fact._"This being is a detachment from an evil entity that holds her captive. She has no heart, and is bound in the contract of flesh." _That was interesting to Her. She had heard and listened to the pleas of men who wished to bring their beloved's back to the world of the living, and occasionally, there was the matter of ghosts and becoming associated with them. This however, was new. _"Is there a way to free her?_" Freedom. Death could provide that.

Out of both curiosity and duty, she probed into his mind. She wanted to know just what he needed answered, and what could possibly be worth this journey.

There was nary a reason not to seek out the truth. Memories, tangled and strewn things that they were, never lied. They might have placed select details out of order, or replaced select sensory projections, but they never lied.

Flashes of colors and sounds filled her mind, and she absorbed it all, missing nothing. There was the Great Dog Demon, howling on the night of his mate's death. Tears paved a silent trail down a younger Sesshomaru's face, and then they were no more. Promises of power spoke to him, late in the night, like the rapacious call of the Siren, and he resolved to have the Tetsusaiga for his own.

A limb was lost, logic and clarity was found at the cost, and he went about the road of vengeance merely for his own benefit. A human girl smiled at him through matted hair, and something about her toothless grin reached forward, melting the first layer of ice he donned like resilient armor. Compassion was gained, and despite his futile attempts to dissuade the facts, he changed.

The avaricious Naraku became his goal, and he did not wish for delays, for anything that would stray him from the path he set. Yet it happened, in the form of a beautiful, fiery-spirited woman. The irony, the doom in the situation that he had thrown himself into, was that she was fashioned from the fibers of his enemy's skin, created with breath and an ill-volition.

Passion roared to life beneath his skin, and though it was spun with the threads of lust, it became far more than a superficial tapestry. One purpose was replaced with another: revenge became the longing to free her from her enemy's clutches, for if he found out that they were involved in such a tryst, she would be killed.

Beneath the edges of the story was a tale that had been told countless times, but with new faces and worlds, new situations and names. Something separated the aforementioned couple, either through illness, misunderstanding parents and guardians, or the fact that they were enemies. There was always a factor that prevented bliss, something that kept the pair from truly being together for the remainder of their lives.

This was no different.

Still, she knew of a way to help him in this circumstance. It was not an offer she gave willingly, for it came at the price of Her duty. Either way, she would come for them both.

_"This is a blade that kills almost instantly, and no being is immune to its cut. Should you wish to join her, there will be no healing, nor will there be a promise of a peaceful reunion."_ All beings had a lurid personification of death, one that was romanticized by the poets, the scholars, and the singers. They spoke of peaceful endings, of passing on into the ether through dreaming, or through moments of pain that equaled ultimate Elysium How foolish they were to think that they would see their loved ones immediately, if at all.

It was what prevented mass self-slaughter however, and for that reason alone, she let them keep their delusions.

Sesshomaru bowed before Her, and she could sense that he was restraining himself. Behind his efforts was every lover who yearned for there to be a way, no matter how foolish the hope that sustained it, for there to be life where there was the unquestionable shadow of the ending. They yearned for the beginning, for a way to start anew, without the horrid complication preventing their loved ones from parting from their arms. In his movements, she saw the thousands upon thousands of physiognomical features, some with tear-stained eyes, others with barely suppressed indignation.

He left, and she knew he was off to grieve, to live his final day. Her mask was not removed, nor did she feel anything but an inkling of curiosity as to what he would do with the small amount of time he was given. Time, even in the hands of the grieving and dutiful, was wasted evermore.

* * *

><p>An entire day passed, the cycle of constellations shimmering in the black horizon like ever-searching eyes. Children laughed, the breeze wafted between the drooping branches of trees, and sunlight warmed bodies that had long since been chilled.<p>

Only in special cases did she bear witness to the severing of the thread.

By the chanting of a few words, a rush of breath that felt as if she had broke the surface of the ocean, and the leaping motion of Her pulse, she found herself in the realm of the living.

She had appeared in a closed off glade, one that had not been tainted by the prints of animals and men alike. It was a place undisturbed by all but serenity, for not even breath broke the quiet. Trees encircled the area, as if the branches and undergrowth were a mother holding her pronounced womb from the world that threatened her unborn kin. The comparison was both brilliant, and bleak, for no life resided here; not anymore.

He was already there, her partner, lover, and ever-constant double. The blade of the sickle gleamed in the gilded sunlight, the light that washed everything in a dazzling array of lambent beauty. This was a fragile moment, made only so by the corpses in the grass.

In death, they had never looked more magnificent. Even if their eyes had been open, their skin broken with the marring of countless wounds, they still would have appeared lovely to Her. Both pairs of eyes were closed, the clothing around them was mussed, as if they had died making love to one another, and their faces revealed peace.

The woman, Kagura, had gone willingly, for she yearned for freedom more than the want to stay in the husk of flesh another had created for her. The Demon Lord had surprised Her with his onslaught of emotion, for though he was truly deceased, the feelings he allowed himself to execute threaded through the air, as if they were strings that wished to join the current of sunlight.

There was anger, the anger that could have easily killed hundreds of creatures that day on that yearning alone. There was grief, the sort of sadness that choked the breath from throats that once spoke of how sorrow was weakness. There was the feeling of endless, looming hopelessness, of time that would be wasted without the one who made time matter.

Once she realized why this struck Her as ironic, she could not help the few steps she took toward the bodies. By allowing himself to feel, Sesshomaru had opened his soul up to the emotions that could kill not only the heart, but the body as well. It was this feeling that killed him, the torrent of life flooding his chest, his lungs, until his heart had no choice but to give out.

Her eyes met Her lover's, and for now, the present situation at hand was forgotten. He was clothed in identical garments, fashioned from the ashes of those who tumbled to ash eventually, the rubies and baubles that humans were so obsessed with, as well as the flesh that was stripped from them. They were a physical representation of what life was, at least the parts that they were instructed to present to all those who spotted them. His mask was the same, and in one another's company, they could remove them.

He removed his first, and she was struck by his features in the way that she always was. He was everything that she could willingly belong to, and she was everything he would ever harmonize completely with. His eyes glittered like pieces of obsidian, flecked with a gold iris. His hair fell in skeins down his back, tumbling to His waist like yards of auricomous silk. He removed Her mask, and the gesture was sensual, the most intimate thing that He could have ever done towards Her.

She mirrored Him, and she felt waves of her light-colored hair fall from the attachment of the mask, and Her eyes adjusted to the true sunlight, the peace of the morning. Their lips met, and for the moment, all was forgotten. Death always needed a lover, and it had been this way for centuries: the commander of the end of life was always granted an immortal lover who would be with them until the pinnacle of their existence. Together, they would fade into the empyrean paradise that their kind reigned over, hand in hand.

Neither had hearts however, hence they governed all that were their responsibility with iron-rimmed logic. Mercy would not be part of their world, nor could it ever be.

After a moment that promised passion later on that evening, they separated. The focus was then, on the fallen bodies. His duty was to sever the final ties their lives held, the slight shimmering thread that bound them to their bodies. Until then, their spirits would float in an in-between that knew no end, a cloudy limbo that would spiral into abysmal oblivion.

In some cases, if she knew that more life had to be lived, she could grant them life. If it interfered with what the Fates had in store, or what Destiny, on her throne of stars and galaxies had planned, then there was no helping any feeble desire that germinated in Her breast. It had never truly happened, - the hope for lives - and for that, she was thankful. Any weakness, anything that would lower Her to the level of empathizing with someone who was not Her lover, of someone who was not a being like Her, would result in Her untimely end. It seemed like a foolish cycle to all those who were not accustomed to it, but it was merely the rule that governed the world, the chain that remained on its immortal tether; others had their way of life, and this was theirs.

Still, she could sense her lover's trepidation, the unspoken question in His throat. It was reflected in His eyes, and in the gleaming morning light, it was impossible to ignore. The question was simple, but it could not be; they _had _to remain dead, for their time had run out. For beings who had run out of time, there could be no bartering, no wishes granted; it would upset the balance of the world, she would lose her post and Her lover would turn to ashes before Her eyes.

Together, they touched the slick wood of the scythe, focused on the dancing cords that flashed in the sunlight, and severed the ties the two entangled lovers shared. She raised Her hand, and the bodies vanished with the daylight, glaring brighter and brighter until there was nothing left to see.

There was a hint of solace beneath this, for she knew where the souls were headed, not towards the Stygian waves, but to a place where there would be no such word as futile. Life, the life that she was breathing and taking in right now, had no place for beings who were enmeshed in a cluster of ceaseless manipulations.

In another time and circumstance, they could have been together and lived. She would have conquered Naraku and become the Lady to the Demon Lord. Their children would speak of victory prevailing over the darkest of adversaries, and life would be unblemished by the wounds of sharp truths.

Nonetheless, there was no hope for such events. There was a forlorn note of finality on the air, an orchestra that brought forth a score of shattering notes, opening and razing any thought of more time.

It was the doom of life, a place she and Her lover had no place in.

Together, in an embrace of shadow, they escaped where the futility of man did not touch their minds, and along the way, they knew that the souls found peace.

Perhaps all was not lost, after all.

_The End_


End file.
